


Vunerability

by ThatOneGreyGhost



Series: Recovery Files 001: Avengers [6]
Category: MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boo Hydra, Bucky Barnes deserves a hug, Drunk Bucky because why the hell not, Dubious Consent, Fluff, I'm such Stucky trash, Little bit of smut, M/M, Steve Rogers being a punk, happy birthday bucky barnes, just a smidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29957142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneGreyGhost/pseuds/ThatOneGreyGhost
Summary: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUCKY BARNES!!!!Trigger warning! Dubious consent in part one(Bucky is wasted and they fuck).
Relationships: Stucky
Series: Recovery Files 001: Avengers [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064849
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11





	Vunerability

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all want a B-day fic for Bucky of course you do here it is!

*Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday, Dear Bucky, Happy Birthday to You*.

The worst part is that it was supposed to be a good day. He's supposed to have one day off from the craziness in his life, one day where he's allowed to be selfish. But it never worked out that way, did it?

March 10th, 1938 is Bucky Barnes' 21st birthday. He wakes up next to his best friend, the way he always does, and hops out of bed to make pancakes.

It all goes to hell a few minutes later when Steve comes wandering out, wrapped in a blanket and yawning through his messy bangs. Bucky promptly forgets how to act like a person as he stares, raking his eyes over Steve's scrawny frame as the blond rubs his eyes, pulling at his hair to make it look more presentable. And that's fine, Bucky's seen Steve do this a bunch of times, he can handle it. Right?

Wrong.

March 10th, 1938 is the day Steve Rogers makes James Buchanan Barnes cry.

To be perfectly fair to Steve, he kind of wants it. He wants it more than he has ever wanted anything, and if it comes with tears, so be it.

The day starts out normal enough. They have pancakes, and Steve insists on buying Bucky a chocolate muffin because even though they're broke, he still deserves something nice. They spend the day out and about, going places, doing things. At Bucky's request, Steve spends almost two hours drawing, just so Bucky can watch the way he dutifully sketches and pencils in fine lines, the mesmerizing movement of his head as he tilts it, flicking his eyes from the page to whatever he's drawing and back down.

The real test comes when Bucky waits outside the art shop for Steve, who's getting some new pencils or whatever and something else for Bucky. A pretty evening girl slides over and asks if he wants a drink, pulling a wine bottle out of her coat. Bucky's not going to say no, obviously, it’s cheap liquor in a time when it’s hard to get, but he's not going to drink that much either. He's actually a bit of a lightweight when it comes to any kind of drink, but especially wine.

By the time Steve steps out of the shop, Bucky's completely plastered, laughing uproariously as Steve swears under his breath and tugs Bucky towards their apartment. Bucky titters, lightheaded from the drinks. He could have sworn he only had two.

"You just *had* to get bent, didn't ya?" Steve mutters under his breath. Bucky giggles, holding back a hiccup.

"It's my birthday, Stevie. I get to have nice things too." Bucky slurs, hiccuping again. He feels floaty more than anything, and for as horrible as he's going to feel tomorrow this actually feels kind of nice. Could be better though. “‘Sides, only had a couple sips”.

“Sure, Bucky”.

“I did! Honest!”

"I was gonna tell you somethin', but you're too drunk to handle it".

"Try me".

"Buck. Let's just go home".

"C'mon, Stevie. You're no fun. Cute as hell, but no fun".

Steve freezes in his tracks, and it takes Bucky far longer than it should for him to realize that *he said that out loud*. Steve turns towards him, and as Bucky suppresses another embarrassing hiccup, Steve narrows his eyes, suspicious.

"What did you just say?" Steve looks incredulously at Bucky, who is now very aware of all of his nervous ticks. When Bucky doesn't answer right away, Steve pulls him into the alley, safe from prying eyes. "Buck. Bucky, what did you say?"

Bucky realizes his perfect lie, one he's spent so long crafting, is falling apart. He has two options, go with it or blame it on the drinks, and for whatever reason, he takes the first option, murmuring again the "cute as hell" line as he blushes sharply. He waits for Steve to turn him down, or worse, completely freak out.

Which is why it catches him completely off guard that Steve just murmurs "oh, Buck" and kisses him lightly on the lips. Bucky almost looks shocked for a second, but then he gets angry, pinning Steve against the wall.

"Don't play with me." He growls sharply, vaguely aware that he probably shouldn't be doing this.

"I'm not." Steve whimpers, actually fucking whimpers, and Bucky's knees go to jelly. Bucky lets up a little, muttering an apology as he looks away, shame tinting his cheeks fire hydrant red.

"You want me?" Bucky mumbles, tears spilling over when Steve nods, smiling. "You want me, Stevie? Please tell me you aren't playin' with me".

"I'm not playing with you, Buck." Steve says, and with that Bucky is on him, pinning him down with a rough kiss that seems to last forever.

He's not sure how they get back to the apartment, but nearly the second the door closes, Bucky is tugging at Steve's suspenders, pulling at them with clumsy hands. Steve aids his desire by shucking off his slacks nearly the second Bucky gets his suspenders off, and reflecting on it later, Bucky's surprised they even make it to the bedroom, the way Steve's grinding against Bucky's thigh every time he leans in for a kiss, or how he’s intent on slowly, carefully pulling Steve’s shirt away from his pale skin.

They go from living room to kitchen to hallway to bed, and every step of the way another article of clothing is lost, another piece of skin is revealed, and Bucky is going feral because this is real, this is happening, this is…

He's towering over Steve, watching the full body blush swell out his lover's cock, pinning him and roughing him up good. He especially likes the way Steve hands over control of the situation, the way he clearly wants to be fucked but lets Bucky go at his own pace. Bucky leans down for another kiss and lets his tongue all but fall into Steve's mouth, exploring various textures and tastes as his hands greedily grope everything they can. Steve whines a little when Bucky starts making his way down to Steve’s now swollen dick, but the more he wants it, the slower he goes, almost as if he’s incapable of finishing quickly. Bucky loves watching Steve beg with his eyes, loves watching him strain and struggle to get himself off.

He learns a few things that night. The first is that Steve can make him come without ever once touching his dick. The second is that Steve makes the most enjoyable noises when he's sexually frustrated, particularly when he wants Bucky to be touching part of him that Bucky is either not touching or had no intention of touching. The third thing is that Steve tastes like oranges. Which is the really weird thing because Steve hates oranges.

That's ok though. Bucky likes Steve no matter how fucking weird he is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March 10th, 1944 is the last birthday Bucky spends with Steve for a long time, and it sucks ass. Sure, Europe is nice and all, but it’s a bit difficult to enjoy seeing as how there’s a war raging through it. Bucky doesn’t mind though. His babydoll is with him, and while he’d rather Steve was at home, safe, he supposes this is as good as he’s going to get with that stubborn punk trying to get himself in trouble.

“I’m still mad at you.” Bucky mutters from over the edge of his book when Steve pops into their tent, watching as he almost immediately collapses in exhaustion onto his cot. Steve immediately perks up, having heard the mutterings but still missing them.

“What?”

“I said, I’m still mad at ya for bein’ somebody’s lab-rat. You coulda died”.

“But I didn’t”.

“Jesus, Stevie, that ain’t the point!” Bucky smacks his face, groaning. “I don’t want you getting hurt, baby. I know you wanted to fight, I know you’re doing good, but honey, I get scared”.

“I’m sorry.” Steve murmurs, and he actually does look sorry. Which is a first. Bucky can’t remember the last time he actually saw Steve look sorry for anything.

“What did you do?” Bucky says flatly.

“What do you mean, ‘what did I do’?”

“Don’t try that, sugar, you look guilty as hell”.

“Maybe I just feel bad for making you worry about me!”

“Mhm.” Bucky hums.

“Honest!” Steve gestures outward, exasperated.

“...Sure, Stevie”.

“I’m not lying, Buck!”

“I don’t believe you, but that’s ok. It’ll come out eventually”.

Steve huffs, opens his mouth to argue, then closes it and huffs again. Bucky smirks, then goes back to his book, turning page after page. Fifteen pages later, he hears a quiet sniffle, followed by the hiccupping sound that Steve makes when he’s crying and doesn’t want to be crying. Bucky puts his book down, concerned for his beloved.

“Doll, I’m not mad. Not really. I just got steamed, alright? I’m sorry”.

“It’s not that.” Steve turns his face away, blinking sharply, as if he were trying to clear the tears from his eyes. “We lost a kid today. Real young, maybe sixteen. Don’t know how he got out where we were, but he was young. Too young. And I got to thinking, who’s gonna write his ma?”

Steve presses a hand over his mouth, and Bucky knows that he’s not going to be able to let it go, not without help. He slides over to Steve’s cot, laying next to the bulky blond as he hiccups another sob. A few minutes later, Steve has calmed down a little, but not enough. It’s never enough anymore, Bucky knows there are some nights where Steve doesn’t sleep. Then again, he doesn’t always sleep, either.

“You’re alright doll. You don’t have to do this, you know? You could go home, go back. You don’t have to be here”.

“I want to.” Steve mumbles, pressing into Bucky’s chest as Bucky runs a hand up and down his back. “It just gets hard, sometimes. Sometimes I forget that this isn’t a game, and then someone dies”.

“Was it your fault?”

“I don’t think so. I just feel like I should have done more”.

“Can I ask you to let it go?” Bucky asks quietly. Steve is silent for a long time before he simply shrugs and buries his face in Bucky’s chest. Bucky is quiet as he simply settles down, laying with Steve pressed against his side. It’s a long time before either of them speak again, but when the silence is broken, it’s by a question that neither of them thought would mean that much until it was said.

“What day is it again?” Steve murmurs, Bucky ruffling his hair.

“Um, I think it’s the 9th”. Bucky answers, not entirely paying attention. He’s kind of nodding off a little, and he doesn’t like that his sleep is being interrupted by pointless thinking.

“Are you sure? I feel like I’m forgetting something, and I don’t know what”.

“Stevie, it’s fine. It’ll come back to you”.

“It’s going to bother me.” Steve mutters, reaching for the calendar he has shoved under his cot. When he looks at it, he goes pale, a soft “oh” escaping him as he replaces it and turns to Bucky.

“It’s the 10th.” Steve has a completely serious look on his face.

“So?”

“Bucky, it’s March”.

That slots it into place for him. It’s his 27th birthday, and he’s spending it in Europe, fighting a war he doesn’t want to fight. It strikes him as rather odd, almost sad, even. But strangely, he mostly feels numb, as if this revelation hasn’t changed anything. Because it hasn’t, to be perfectly honest.

“Oh.” Bucky says, shrugging after a minute or so. “Huh. I guess today did feel kind of off”.

Steve looks aghast, which again strikes Bucky as odd. It’s just a day, it doesn’t mean anything special, not unless he wants it to. And he really doesn’t want it to, not right now. He just wants all this to be over with.

“You’re not bothered?” Steve whispers, looking extremely distressed.

“Not really. It’s just a day, Steve”.

“But it’s your day. Don’t you want to celebrate, just a little?”

“Nah. I want to go home, more’n anything, but that’s not happening”.

“You could, if you wanted to. No one would blame ya”.

“But you’d be here, alone.” Bucky looks directly into his lover’s eyes, taking in the sight of them. “I can’t just leave you”.

Steve gets a look of gratitude plastered on his face, and it stays there until he falls asleep, pressed in Bucky’s arms. Bucky thinks about everything he’s said, everything he’s done. He’s really actually happy here, as much as he wants to go home, as much as he wants to be done. He thinks about what he’s said, about staying with Steve.

In about 9 months, he’s going to wish he had gone home, and then he’s going to have the last rational thought he’ll have for a long time; Thank God it’s me, not you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March 10th, 2014 passes without incident for the Winter Soldier. He has no use for dates or years. There is only killing, reprogramming, and freezing. No dates, no names, no faces. It doesn’t matter. March 10th means nothing to him.

March 13th, however, a mere three days later, well… the Soldier has never encountered a target like this. Tall, blond, blue eyes, and a giant metal frisbee that he flings at people. A frisbee! Of all things, he had to choose a goddamn frisbee? That has to be the stupidest thing he’s ever-

The Soldier composes himself. It isn’t his place to speculate on his target’s weapon of choice, or to comment on how stupid that choice is. He exists only to eliminate threats to HYDRA. He is a perfect weapon, perfect and obedient. Nothing more, nothing less.

But then his target does something strange. His target calls him a name, and it jostles something inside him. His target yells out “Bucky?” and it knocks something loose. A memory, almost, of a scrawny blond boy who coughed too much, who had a large mouth and a snarky tongue, who-

“Who the hell is Bucky?” The Soldier replies, startling himself even as he moves to kill the man, who is now paralyzed on the bridge in front of him, and then the Widow fires a grenade launcher at him, and he can’t hit his target. But that something inside him is still loose, and he wants answers, consequences be damned! 

That is how the Soldier ends up strapped to the chair, blank faced yet defiant, afraid yet enraged. He asks questions, he demands answers, and when his handler tells the crew to wipe him, he resists. He doesn’t even know why he’s resisting, but he doesn’t care. He *has* to resist, *has* to get out of here, break free, get out, /Let me out!!/

It falls apart. They send him to fight the man on the helicarrier, expecting he won’t remember a thing. But he remembers everything. For once in his tortured life, their brainwashing didn’t work, and it’s falling apart around him, and then the blond says something.

“I was going to marry you.” He mutters as the Soldier pulls him up, rears back to deliver the final blow. “I’m with you till the end of the line”.

The Soldier hesitates. That is the first true indication something is wrong, because the Soldier never hesitates. Then, the glass goes out from beneath them, and the Soldier is diving after the blond, panicking because /He can’t swim, oh God, what have I done?/

He pulls the blond to shore, waits for him to breath, then begins to walk away. But he can’t. He can’t leave /Steve/ the man here on his own. So, he sits and he waits. And when the man’s friends come, they find him, but he doesn’t fight. He’s tired of fighting, tired of pushing. He wants rest.

That is the second indication something is wrong. The Soldier doesn’t *want*, the Soldier has no desires, no memories. But he wants this, he wants to stay, to learn, to know the blond man that he rescued. To know what he means to the Soldier, because he must mean something.

March of 2014, the Soldier is arrested for his crimes.

March 10th, 2015, Bucky Barnes is acquitted by the court, crying as the verdict of “not guilty” sends his best friend over the barriers to pull him into a desperate hug, sobbing as he is led away to the holding area where he is given a change of clothes and is ready to go home.

Of course, he’s barraged by the press the entire way to the car, but it hardly matters. Someone asks how he feels, and he simply responds with “Best birthday ever!”, which gets an audible choking sound out of Steve. They slide into the car, and as they pull away, Bucky relaxes, letting his muscles take the brunt of it.

“Do you remember?” Steve asks carefully. Bucky shrugs.

“I do now”.

Two minutes later, he’s asleep, exhaustion taking over. He’s tired, and he’ll finally get rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March 10th, 2016, Bucky Barnes wakes up next to his boyfriend, kisses him good morning, and hops out of bed to make breakfast, nearly tripping on said boyfriend’s cat, a calico tortiseshell named Mirian.

“Miri, get out of the way so I don’t step on you.” Bucky mutters, nudging Mirian aside with his foot. Mirian meows loudly, then headbutts Bucky’s leg. “Steven, feed your goddamn cat before she eats me”.

“Not my cat before nine am.” Steve mutters into his pillow, turning drowsily to smile at Bucky, sleep still prevalent in his eyes.

“Mm, punk.” Bucky smiles, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend again before turning away to go make breakfast. He’s halfway to the door when a realization hits him. “Today’s March 10th”.

“Mhm. Happy Birthday”.

“I know. Pancakes for breakfast!”

“You and your sweet tooth”.

“Hey, hey, hey! You have no problem with my sweet tooth when I get randomly struck with the urge to bake, so shut the hell up or I won’t share the brownies Sam is bringing!”

“Rude. And besides, I’m not complaining. Your sweet tooth makes for a savory afternoon.” Steve smirks at Bucky, giving a sly wink.

“Is that an innuendo, Rogers?” Bucky raises both eyebrows in what he hopes is a look of surprise.

“Is that a challenge, Barnes?”

“Methinks he doth protest too much!”

“Pft, Shakespeare? Bucky, C’mon”.

“....Shut up.” Bucky scowls at Steve.

“Make me.” Steve teases back.

Needless to say, breakfast did not get made that morning. But the brownies did end up being shared and if Bucky stole a sip of Steve’s ice cream shake and Sam spent twenty minutes throwing french fries in his mouth, then who was he to complain?


End file.
